


lit the fuse and missed the candle (i love you and despise you)

by lostandlonelybirds (RUNNFROMTHEAK)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: (it's in the past), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, And I need you to know this, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avoiding Sex Scenes with Violence and Intimacy Issues Is My Kink, BAMF Dick Grayson, Biting, Bottom Dick Grayson, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, But he won't let anyone give him one, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cock-blocked by emotional issues, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Wears Heels and Black Lipstick, Dick Grayson is Bad at Feelings, Dick Grayson is Catlad | Stray, Dirty Talk, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Lovers, Fight me on that, Gunplay, Hate Sex, He's also a short king, Hurt Dick Grayson, I'm not saying Jason Todd totally still got the tentacles in new york, Jason Todd is Bad at Feelings, Jealous Jason Todd, Love to hate to love, Love/Hate, M/M, Marking, Misunderstandings, Or: I hate you but I'm actually in love with you and have ISSUES, Outdoor Sex, Past Dick Grayson/Harley Quinn, Past Dick Grayson/Rose Wilson, Past Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Possessive Behavior, Post-Break Up, Rough Sex, Slut Shaming, Top Jason Todd, Unreliable Narrator, actually, but not the safe kind, implied degradation kink, like at all, lovers to idiots, selina kyle is a good mom, that's exactly what I'm saying, the story of Jason Todd and Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26273344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RUNNFROMTHEAK/pseuds/lostandlonelybirds
Summary: “You are nothing,” Stray hisses, slashing Jason’s face with his unoccupied hand.Jason lets him, smiling as the blood drips down his cheek.“Oh baby,” he says, all low timbre and heat, “I’m everything to you.”
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Selina Kyle, Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 23
Kudos: 291
Collections: JayDick Summer Exchange 2020





	lit the fuse and missed the candle (i love you and despise you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Airdanteine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airdanteine/gifts).



> I do not know if this will be released anonymously or not, but if it is...there are several clues in the fic that reveal my identity.  
> Air, I really hope you enjoy this! I knew I wanted to make you something right off the bat (for reasons you'll get when I am revealed ;) ) and this prompt literally held my soul ransom. It's not as long as it wanted to be (the fic and I argued quite a bit) but I like it! Consider it my thanks for your contributions to the wonderful community of JayDick, and your wonderful art!!!!
> 
> Big thanks to the mods, Empires and pentapus, who are beyond awesome and have done a fabulous job running this event!
> 
> Now, I shall shut up so you can enjoy the idiots. 
> 
> : )

“That was my fucking _client_ , captain dildo-head! I know you’re probably no good at blowing your boy-toys but that doesn’t give you the right to compensate by blowing my entire _fucking operation_!”

Jason’s gun’s been locked on his head since he threw the first punch, but they both know he’s not going to shoot. Wouldn’t do to break his stupid code and their little game of who can drive the other to insanity first. At the moment, Jason’s winning, and by winning Dick means he’s about to send Jason off the roof and back to the grave. He’s sure the dirt misses him, and hell, it’ll help build up Stray’s now non-existent credibility considering the grand _idiot_ in red armor just cost him _months_ of valuable work building a network of shady contacts _._ B is going to be _pissed_ , which is not good for the favor he’d been hoping to get out of his broodiness. All of that lost because of one fucking _idiot_

“Just because you’ll fuck anything that moves doesn’t mean you know a damn thing,” Red Hood snarls, leaning in close enough for Dick to see the thin strip of skin between the helmet and zipped up leather jacket. “ _Pussycat.”_

It’s been a _long_ time since Dick’s had the patience to deal with Jason’s big mouth. It’s been longer since he hasn’t wanted to paint it red. He takes a step closer to Jason, wary of the man’s finger hovering over the trigger. Stray should probably be more careful, more _calculated_ , but what’s life without a little thrill? Without a little _risk_?

“Say that one more time, Todd. I fucking _dare you_.”

“Or _what_? You’ll blow me?”

Stray snorts, fingers itching for the whip wrapped tight around his waist. Jason’s going for low blows, things he _knows_ Dick’s insecure about, and it’s almost cute. It’s almost hurtful. But he’s grown beyond some two-bit sidekick desperate for daddy’s love, and he’s moved beyond a point where Red Hood’s little insinuations about Dick’s promiscuity (with which he is _more_ than comfortable) make him feel anything other than annoyance. Really, he’d had shit taste as a teen. It’s kind of pathetic.

“Maybe _I will_. It would be a sacrifice on my part, but _someone_ has to take pity on the parade of unsatisfied prostitutes you _somehow_ manage to bribe into ignoring your lackluster personality. Did you lose it on the way back?”

“I seem to remember you not being bothered by my ‘lackluster personality’ when I had you bent over the Batmobile screaming my name.”

Stray huffs.

“Congratulations, you can hit a prostate. So can any dildo worth a damn.”

Jason leans in with a nasty smirk.

“Last I checked, you didn’t beg dildos to fuck you harder.”

Stray rests his claws on Jason’s shoulder, dragging one along his throat. Jason relaxes at the proximity, ironically enough. Like Dick isn’t weighing the pros and cons of throwing him off the roof.

“Last _I_ checked, I beg anything with a cock to do that. Even some women, if we’re having share circle time. Your ex knows how to show a guy a good time. Cutie with the eye-patch and attitude? Rose, right?”

Jason’s eyes narrow, and Dick presses his forehead to the gun with a black-lipped smirk. Words come to him easily, drawled and honeyed the way Jason’s always fallen for, when he’s not too mad to think. He’s not that mad _yet_ , but there’s still time.

“You gonna do something about that, Jay? I know you’re not compensating for anything…”

Dick lifts his other hand to squeeze Jason’s groin, feeling the cup beneath the armor. Jason rolls his eyes and puts the gun back in the holster.

“Cute,” Hood snarks. “Real cute. I know I shouldn’t be surprised with your conquests anymore, but I _really_ thought Rose had better taste.”

Stray shrugs, stepping back.

“How can she? She dated _you_. At least my ass makes up for my crazy.”

Jason gives a fake laugh.

“No, it does _not_. I can tell you that from experience.”

Dick bristles. If there’s one thing he can’t take, it’s a hit to his flawless reputation of satisfied lovers.

“Bullshit. I had you wrapped around my goddamn _pinky_ up until you got yourself killed running around like a chicken with its head cut off. All I had to do was snap my fingers, and you’d come running and beg to fuck me. Quit lying and _admit it_.”

“Fuck you,” Jason snarls, green eyes humming to life that violent shade of green few people are able to inspire (Joker, Bruce, and sometimes Dick). “ _Fuck. You.”_

“You can’t,” Stray says coldly. “That option’s dried up, zombie boy. You have a left hand. Learn to use it.”

“Like I’d ever want to fuck _you_. Who knows where you’ve been.”

Stray mimics Jason’s nasty grin from earlier, capturing his jaw between two claws and making sure those green pools are locked on him. Low blows. It’s what they’ve both always been profoundly gifted at.

“Harley Quinn can tell you a thing or two if you want.”

He manages to dodge the first punch, but not the second. It’s painful, and he can feel the bruise blooming across his cheek the moment it hits. Well, good thing he isn’t planning on working off the built-up tension with a partner tonight. Fucking _Hood_.

“Did you learn that one from daddy?” He manages, wiping the blood off his lip with the back of his glove. “Can’t control your anger or that damn pit, can you?”

Jason’s eyes flare. A flash of warning that sends a little tingle up Dick’s spine. If looks could kill…

“You haven’t _seen_ me lose control, pussycat. You’d be running if you had.”

Stray scoffs.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I can take you any day at any time. Besides, you _owe me_ now.”

“I don’t owe you _shit_.”

Stray rolls his eyes.

“That was my _client_ you shot point-blank in front of his entire staff. His brain matter is in my fucking _hair_ , and it took me _weeks_ to get that close. Gain his trust. And you fucked it all up with one bullet and a shiny red dildo as a mask.”

Hood’s shoulders tense, which Stray makes a mental note of. Huh. Doesn’t like hearing about his kills now?

“He’s a bad motherfucker, Dickie-boy. You’re out of your _depth_.”

“Oh great,” Stray drawls sarcastically, “we’re back at the ‘you thinking you own me and getting in my way’ stage. I really thought you’d learned better after New York.”

“We agreed not to _talk_ about New York.”

“We can either talk about New York, or we can talk about you stalking me. Pick your fucking poison.”

Hood grinds his teeth, a sound Dick knows all too well, even when it goes through the voice modulator that doesn’t do enough modulating. Jason’s always had a very distinctive voice, deep and soft, like dark chocolate melted over croissants. It’s such a shame he’s a jackass. All those sex-tapes thrown out because looking at them, looking at Jason smiling at Dick and worshipping him with his lips, had _hurt_. The kind of hurt Stray’s never been able to handle. The kind that leaves him weak. _Vulnerable_. The kind he’d rather die than feel.

Heartbreak.

Jason had broken Dick’s heart, so he delights in breaking Jason’s over and over and _over_ again in every way possible. Never let it be said that a cat doesn’t have claws, and Dick’s greatest weapon against Jason is _information_. Why take an AK to his ex’s skull when he can ruin him instead? He knows Jason inside and out, knows how he thinks, breathes, ticks, feels. The ones who love you are the best at breaking you, and just because he’d never _said_ the words doesn’t mean he’d never felt them.

Cats are _great_ at breaking things, after all.

“I’m not stalking you. That guy I just shot back there’s linked to the fucking mafia’s drug peddling. He’s personally responsible for _fifteen_ kids who’ve OD’d in the last two _weeks_. I’m not apologizing for shit when he goddamn well _deserved it_.”

“Oh cut the brooding, _Batman_. I had _dibs_. The entire _point_ was finding out the higher-ups through the creep, who was _very interested_ in spilling all the details to me over a long dinner and late-night, and then taking down the head honchos first _before_ working through the lower ranks. It. Was. My. Case.”

Jason crosses his arms, looking at Dick like he’s a slimy thing on the bottom of his shoe. Huh. It kind of hurts. Stray used to care so much about Jason’s opinion.

“You _knew_ what kind of shit he’s involved in and you were _still_ going to let him fuck you?!” 

“It’s _called_ getting information. I’ve let you fuck me, so clearly my standards need some raising.”

“I don’t _deal_ to kids.”

Stray gives him a supremely unimpressed look, one hand on his hip and one claw digging into the armor of Hood’s chest. He feels short, this close. He and Jason had been the same height before Jason came back with an extra hundred pounds of muscle and shot up like a beanpole. His eyes are level with Jason’s chin, so he stares up and pretends he’s taller, pretends his skin isn’t burning from the proximity. This is the closest he’s been to Jason in months. It’s weird.

“You still kill people, Mr. Guns-all-the-time. You still do bad things. You still hurt people.”

 _You still hurt me_.

Hood has no retort for this, simply glaring at Stray with a hand over his Glock. Jason’s prickly, as always. Jason’s defensive, as always. Stray hates how well he knows him, how the memories won’t leave no matter what he drowns them in, no matter how deep he shoves them down.

“No comment, right? Fuck up and fuck off, that’s what you’re _best_ at.”

“I died,” Jason snaps. “What’s your fucking excuse?”

“That’s _it_ ,” Stray snarls, flicking out with his whip until it’s wrapped around Hood’s throat. It takes skill, getting that thin strip of skin not covered by armor or the dumb phallic helmet, but Stray has years of practice. He pulls Hood close, close enough for him to fist his hands in the collar of that stupid jacket with the stupid symbol that had left Jason for dead before.

“You _died_. You _left_ this fucking planet and left me behind, so you can’t _judge me_ for what I did in the interim. I can fuck _whoever_ I want, _whenever_ I want. I can have anyone in this damn city, I can have you if I want you, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me.”

“That a threat?” Hood’s voice is low, a sensual timbre Stray knows well from before. Before Joker killed Jason. Before the break-up. Before everything got fucked up in Gotham and his greatest _something_ turned into his greatest hate. ‘ _Thin line_ ,’ he thinks, because even though he can’t say the ‘l’ word in relation to Jason anymore, the hate half more than applies.

Dick gives a lazy flick of his wrist, sending Jason sprawling out on the concrete rooftop with ease. He rolls a few feet away, on his back, and Stray saunters over to straddle his ex’s waist like he has hundreds of times before.

“A promise, I’d say.”

A swift swipe of his fingers and the security’s off Jason’s helmet. Dick throws it far enough away that if it blows up it is not his problem, all too smug at the little crack he hears in it. Indestructible his _ass_ , give him five minutes and that stupid thing would be over-priced glass fragments in a back alley no one would look in.

“What to do, what to do,” Dick sings aloud, dragging his claw over the thick armor of Jason’s suit teasingly. He’s rewarded with the smallest sigh, a smaller shudder. Dick had been Jason’s first; he’ll always have _that_ to his name. He set the damn standard. “I _could_ have you suck my cock, but I doubt I’d get anything out of it. And I’m only ‘in it for myself’. Isn’t that what you said, my Little Wing?”

Jason bucks his hips roughly, off-balancing Dick just enough to roll them over. Dick’s claws linger over Jason’s throat, legs squeezing tight as they can around Jason’s waist, and Jason’s eyes flare green, haunted as his gun lines up with Dick’s forehead yet again.

Dick laughs, the kind of laugh Joker would sue him over for copyright infringement (assuming the psychopath knows what that is).

“Been there done that, Jay. You won’t kill me, because then I’d _win_. You don’t have the _balls_.”

“I _hate_ you,” Hood spits, lowering the gun to point at Dick’s mouth. “God I hate you.”

Dick smirks.

“Feeling’s mutual, my dearly detested. Whatcha gonna do about it? Want me to call you daddy and let you spank me? Way I hear it is you might like that the other way around.”

Jason’s glare intensifies, and he presses the point of the gun against Dick’s black-painted smirk.

“Suck,” he orders, and fuck it, Stray _likes_ getting bossed around sometimes. Might as well let Jason think he’s going to play cooperative before fucking him over (possibly literally).

He lets the cool metal press past his teeth, taking a deep, shuddering breath as Jason flicks the safety off. Last he’d heard, Bruce and Jason aren’t on the best terms, meaning the rounds are probably lethal. But hell, he’s done dumber things. He’s fucked around with more dangerous people. Jason had loved him once, so he won’t kill Dick like this. It’s not about trust for him, because he knows just like Dick knows he won’t pull the trigger. It’s about _power_ , obedience, a test of give and take and want and have.

It’s a game. The kind of game where someone’s going to get hurt, and this time Stray’s going to make sure it’s not him. Never again.

* * *

_Before_

In the beginning, it had been a game. Cat and Bat. Bat and Cat. Dick flirts because he can. Jason flusters because he’s adorable. Dick robs banks because he’s bored. Jason tries to stop him because he’s supposed to. Then, it grows. Dick opens up because he feels like he can. Jason’s there because he wants to be. Dick kisses Jason because he feels something, and Jason returns it because he does too.

Nothing good ever lasts though, not when Dick’s on one side and Jason’s on the other, not when Bruce disapproves, and Jason tends to blindly follow his mentor. They don’t break up immediately, not really. There’s a series of breakups. A series of “never again’s” and “enjoy it while it lasts” that go from monthly to weekly to daily. They fuck. They fight. They kiss. They make-up. Rinse, repeat, retry.

Jason will say he loves Dick after a quick tumble in the sheets, painfully gentle and vulnerable as he caresses his lover’s skin, and Dick will keep thin-lipped silence. It’s damning, to Jason, and necessary, to Dick. And as Jason and Bruce fight more, he withdraws from Dick. He keeps his cards closer to his heart. He stops saying I love you, and Dick stops spending the night. Slowly, surely, _painfully_ they drift apart like two rafts in a tumultuous sea. They don’t come together. They don’t talk. By the time Jason Todd discovers his mother’s true identity, by the time he steals a Wayne Industries private jet and sets its course to Ethiopia, they’re broken.

Two halves of a shattered whole, more fragments than pieces and no glue to hold them together.

“Don’t do this,” Stray begs, and it’s the first time he’s ever really begged for anything. He doesn’t beg. Doesn’t plea. Doesn’t say please unless it’s to be polite. He doesn’t show much because he doesn’t know how. But he’s desperate enough to break his own rules, taking off his goggles so Jason can see the shimmer of tears in his blue eyes. “Little Wing, don’t go to Ethiopia. Stay here. Stay in Gotham.” _Stay with me._

Jason shakes his head, lips set in a determined frown that makes Dick want to break his nose again.

“Sorry, kitty. I have to go. I have to find her.”

“Jay, I have a bad feeling about this. Please. I’m asking you not to go.” _For me_.

Jason knows him well enough to hear the unspoken sentiments, and his hand is gentle against Dick’s cheek.

“It’s not enough.”

Dick knows what he means to say, hears it loud and painfully clear: _Dick_ is not enough of a reason to stay.

Dick’s eyes narrow on Jason, glinting and furious.

“If you leave,” he starts, heart pounding in his mouth, thundering in his chest, “we’re done. I mean it this time. If you leave, don’t bother coming back.”

Jason nods, face a mask Dick can’t read.

“Okay,” he says evenly, not giving any hint to what he’s feeling. “That’s your choice. Now go.”

Dick breaks his own heart as he turns his back on that plane, as Jason picks everything in the world over him again. Jason breaks his heart again when he gets himself killed, and a third time when he doesn’t come to Dick after his resurrection. It’s then that Dick knows. Dick _knows_. Love is pain, and he won’t ever love again. He won’t let himself be so stupid ever again. Cats have nine lives, and he’s not giving a single life to Jason ever again. He’s already taken three. No more.

* * *

Dick sucks the barrel down as far as he can manage it comfortably, feeling the metal push apart his cheeks on the right side of painful. He hollows his cheeks as he bobs, making a show of it like he always does. Jason’s eyes are locked on his, so he smirks around the barrel too. Wouldn’t do to let Hood think he’s scared, not when he’s already hard as a rock at the thought of Stray being under his control.

Dick pulls away from the gun and presses a kiss to the tip of it, winking at Jason briefly. Jason’s turned on, turned on enough that this is _really_ gonna hurt him. And damn Dick if that isn’t a delicious thought.

Faster than Jason can anticipate, Dick wraps one arm around Jason’s neck and the other around his bicep. He pushes up off the ground, kicking one leg under Jason’s armpit and the other over his shoulder, pulling down hard on Jason’s neck so they roll with Dick on top. The gun falls to the side, kicked away by Dick’s heeled boot before Jason can react, and Dick twists the arm in between his thighs until he hears a pop. Quick as he can, he pulls away, kicking Jason in the stomach as he steps over him. His ex gives a pained gasp, green eyes humming to life with a furious glow that’s hotter than hell.

“What the _fuck_ , Dick!”

Stray shrugs, perched on the edge of the rooftop and smirking over his shoulder at his ex, still flat on his back on the concrete ground.

“Looks like your left hand might have a bit of trouble. Don’t get in my way, Jaybird, or it’ll be worst next time.”

“Fuck you!” Jason shouts, and honestly, Dick’s bored.

He flips Jason the bird as he jumps, content by the roar he leaves in his wake. Hood makes it too easy.

*

“So,” Selina says, legs crossed, and eyes narrowed from her seat on his oversized bed. “Who bruised my kitten up?”

‘ _Busted’_ Dick thinks. He’d told Selina he had a date, which isn’t a _complete_ lie. What he hadn’t mentioned was it had been a Bat-designated date with the kind of people Selina hates him being around. Residual distaste from her many undercover ops trading favors with heroes, and the few Stray had managed to get in on that had gone wrong.

Selina doesn’t trust Bruce with him, and despite him being a whole adult, he tries to respect that normally. But… he’d heard about Jason’s investigation through the grapevine and made connections before him. Solved things before him. An infuriatingly petty dance between the two of them, because Jason Todd hates nothing more than being second best.

“Captain Constipated from the lake of glowing shit of course,” he remarks, throwing his goggles onto his dresser carelessly and pulling off his cowl. “He really needs to get over himself. Boundary _issues_. Do you think the GCPD gives restraining orders to vigilantes? We could probably pull some strings, right?”

Selina sighs, slinking across the room to his side with that pitying expression he absolutely _hates_ on her face. Her fingers are soft on his bruised cheek, but it still stings enough for him to let out a little hiss and wince.

“Don’t children talk anymore? I could’ve sworn Alfred raised him better than that.”

“Don’t you mean Bruce?”

Selina raises a brow at him pointedly.

“Do you think I mean Bruce?”

Dick snorts.

“I guess not.”

She rolls her eyes at him, picking up the jar of salve Dr. Thompkins had sent last week and twisting the top off carefully. It's made of Aloe Vera and a few other ingredients he can’t place that somehow manage to smell good. Alfred’s magic with food, and Leslie’s magic with medicine, those are the only constants in Gotham.

“No shit,” Selina says flatly, taking two fingers of the jelly-like substance and rubbing them over the bruise in gentle circular strokes. It stings, but he’s had worse. High pain tolerance is part of the Gotham Villain-ish package. “So… did you start it, or did he?”

Dick lets out a little sigh, pulling his gloves off to slump against the dresser.

“Little of column A. Little of column B.”

“You taunted him, didn’t you?”

Dick bats his eyes up at her innocently.

“Who? Little old me? I would never—yeah. I did. A little bit. But he baited _me_ first!”

This earns him an unimpressed brow. Selina must have hung out with Alfred recently because that look is all him. Probably with Ivy, knowing them. Little wine circle of reluctant parents, featuring a whole lot of complaining and a whole lot of Alfred sass. He may not be privy to the location of said meetings, but he knows they exist. One day, a day where his face is prettier and he’s less tired, he will prove it.

“What are you, eight? I could’ve sworn you were less childish at eight.”

Dick huffs.

“He killed my date!”

Selina’s thumb rubs into the bruise just a bit too hard, and her shoulders stiffen.

“It was a case, wasn’t it?”

Dick looks up at her through his eyelashes.

“I wasn’t _not_ a case,” he murmurs, and her dark eyes glint furiously.

“I’m going to kill Bruce, and then I’m going to beat you to death with his torn-off arm.”

“He needed help.”

Selina sets the salve down on the dresser stiffly, pulling away.

“Oh I’m sure _Bats_ did. But I told him from the _start_ you are _my_ kitten. Not his little bird to go throw off a cliff and expect to fly. He did that enough with—” _Jason_.

“I’m not him.”

Selina huffs out a laugh.

“He makes you reckless, Dickie. He makes you stupid. He’s your catnip.”

“He means _nothing_ to me,” Dick hisses, blue eyes narrowed in on Selina. “He _is_ nothing.”

“You never were good at lying to yourself,” she muses. “Wonder if you got that from me or your parents.”

“Jason Todd is _dead_ to me.”

She gives him a sad smile, like she can feel his heart’s painful palpitations in her own chest.

“Jason Todd is everything to you, my poor little Robin. Of all the things you learned from me, I wish that hadn’t been one of them.”

Dick sighs, and Selina walks towards his still-open window, perching on the frame before pausing.

“By the way, you, _mister,_ are in so much shit once I go rip Bruce a new one.”

“Can Alfie at least record it?”

Her red-lips curl into a smirk Dick can only try to imitate.

“We’ll see, my impertinent kitten. Maybe if you’re good.”

“I’m twenty-one!”

“Then act like it!”

And then Selina’s gone, and all those feelings he’s been putting off feeling, all those thoughts he’s been putting off thinking blow up like a match to a tank of gas. He’s gasping, shaking, thinking of the feeling of Jason under him, on top of him. The way he used to look at Dick like he was everything. Important. Special. The way he hadn’t judged Dick for his reputation or tactics.

He hates Jason. But he feels the other word too. Still. A tiny smidgen of weakness he can’t will away. He can’t fuck it out. Can’t _hate_ it out. He can’t even fight it out. It’s there. Like a tumor poisoning his stupid heart. Like an infection in his bloodstream. Like a fatal blow to his soul (assuming he has one).

“FUCK!” he punches the mirror on his dresser as hard as he can, feeling something close to relief as the glass fragments cut into his skin. But then comes the realization in the sensation of blood pouring from his wounds like little rivers, and he feels like an idiot.

He sinks to the ground, cradling the injured hand as his heart thunders in his chest. He feels a bit like crying. A bit like breaking. He hasn’t cried in years. Hasn’t cried since the funeral. Since Jason’s death.

With a shaky hand, he pulls the pack of cigarettes from one of his suit’s inner pockets. It’s a cheaper brand. The kind Jason used to smoke after sex, or after a particularly difficult fight. Bad habits, but the kind that feel better than actually confronting the issues they stem from.

The lighter’s tucked snug in the half-empty carton, so he puts a death stick between his lips and rolls the stupid thing until it lights. It flickers, waving like one of those blown up dancers in front of car dealerships, so he leans into it, waiting for his cigarette to get that nice glow.

Dick takes a long drag, tasting Jason as he breathes out. Another drag and he feels that little boost that keeps the cigarettes in his suit instead of in the trash. He blows spirals around his head, letting the room get a smoky haze to it as he numbs his pain. Third drag he lets out a chuckle.

Selina’s right. He’s shit at lying to himself. And fuck him if this isn’t pathetic.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” he mutters and sets off to find that half-empty bottle of tequila to go drown his sorrows with. If he’s going to be pathetic, no point in half-assing it. He can go back to not caring tomorrow. Or later today. Whenever.

But for now…

For now, he’ll let himself feel the pain enough to numb it. He’ll let his walls down while there’s no one here to see it. Just this once.

* * *

_Before_

He doesn’t go to the funeral. Alfred had invited him personally over lunch a week or so ago (Alfie has gotten in the habit of checking in on Dick after his attempted murder of one deranged clown followed by a crime spree that should have landed him in Arkham were it not for Bruce and Selina’s stupid interference) but Dick doesn’t have the heart to show. He doesn’t have the strength to go look at that gleaming casket knowing Jason’s inside. He doesn’t have the courage to face it when not facing it is so much more appealing. He wants to be there for Alfred, but he…

He’s too much of a mess to be of any use to anyone. Right now is the perfect example. Instead of going to his boyfriend’s funeral, he’s at the Iceberg Lounge drinking martinis like it’s happy hour and Cinco de Mayo rolled into one. Everyone from Nygma to Croc is sending him concerned glances, brief enough that he almost misses them. But he’s _looking_ for them. He wants them. He wants a fight or a fuck or a _something_ that isn’t this gaping wound in his chest. Something that isn’t this stupid stupid pain he has no use for, and the guilt gnawing at him like acid on clothes.

He doesn’t care who. He doesn’t care _how_.

“Stray?” one of Dent’s henchmen approaches him cautiously, like he’s a ticking time-bomb. You almost murder _one guy_ … “Are you alright? You’re drinkin’ an awful lot. I don’t think Catwoman would be too happy.”

Stray laughs. And laughs. And laughs. It’s not because anything is particularly funny. It’s because everything isn’t. Everything is so not funny that it _is_ funny. Fuck him. Fuck Jason. Fuck this henchman and fuck this bar.

“Why don’t you ask Joker if I’m alright. Because I _swear_ if I hear anyone else ask that question within my range of hearing, I will rip their vocal cords out and feed them to Selina’s fucking cats. Capiche?”

Henchmen nods slowly, scurrying away like a little mouse the second Stray’s eyes return to his martini. Bartender refills the empty glass with one glance, this time without protest. No wonder the villains in this down are so murderous. Service is _terrible_ at the one bar they all frequent, and the company is shitty. Briefly, Stray entertains the idea of an Iceberg Lounge themed villain. Something like Serviceman, who’s vendetta against bad service leads to him “serving” waiters heads on silver platters to Penguin’s ugly face. Ah, that would be entertaining. Too bad no such villain exists. Yet. It is Gotham, so he can hold a bit of hope for the possibility.

But then, he hears the whispers, the little murmurs of his name and Joker’s out of the mouths of henchmen and henchwomen. He sees the glances, slowly getting bolder the longer he leaves them unchallenged.

He’s not weak. He’s not some mewling little helper afraid of getting his hands dirty. He fears nothing. He fears no one.

All eyes are on him as the next guy approaches him. Maybe it’s Condiment Man or some other small-fry villain. Maybe it’s someone bigger. Stray doesn’t know, because the liquor is _finally_ kicking in and his pain feels a little less jagged, the world feels delightfully blurred and buzzing and numb. So the guy’s hand goes on his shoulder, and Stray smirks, inviting him closer.

Whoever it is leans in, cologne overpowering in an Old Spice kind of scent (like a high school boy with a squeaky voice at Homecoming on his first date), and Stray… Stray follows his desire.

He shatters the martini glass on the loser’s head, glass fragments cutting into his arm where they fly, and the guy goes down like a sack of flour. Chaos seemingly erupts around him, goons and dudes coming at him in waves, waves he dances around and dodges with a dizzying sort of adrenaline, an orgasmic rush. It’s dangerous, because he’s drunk and he’s emotional and he’s vulnerable. It’s dangerous, because he’s outnumbered by more hunks than he can count with nothing but his wits and his claws.

It’s exhilarating.

It’s exciting.

It’s the best he’s felt since Jason Todd left him a broken mess to go look for a mother that had never wanted him.

He doesn’t remember anything else from that night but flashing lights and Selina’s worried greens. But he doesn’t care. Caring requires feeling, and for the first time in a while he’s blissfully numb.

* * *

The next time he sees Jason, he’s on the arm of Slade Wilson looking the part of pretty eye candy. Slade has a contract, and Dick likes opportunities that let him line his pockets. They have that kind of relationship. Favors. Hints. It’s always a mutual transaction, but Dick tends to get more out of the deal than Slade nine times out of ten. Slade takes it pretty well, for an old man.

Jason looks good. It’s the first thing Dick notices, fingers tightening around Slade’s arm until they're white. Jason looks _better_ than good. The formal suit clings to him deliciously, all those miles of muscle and definition he’d earned in years past on display. The red detailing suits him too, in a way the plain black suits from events with B never had. Slade’s smirk is on full display, and he tugs on Dick to go greet him.

“You’re so _dead_ ,” he hisses at Slade.

“Promises, promises,” Slade teases with a knowing grin. Dick forces himself to smile, contenting himself with getting his revenge later.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Jason snaps as Slade and Dick drift towards him and a poorly disguised Roy Harper and Koriand’r. “You should be back in _Gotham_.”

It’s a LexCorp Gala, hosted by his very favorite baldy who owes Stray a chunk of flesh for backing out of more than a few deals. Rumor has it, kryptonite and some fun toys are on show today for potential donors, and Dick would love nothing more than getting his hands on that. Kryptonite in Lex’s hands is bad news after all; Stray’s never really had an issue with Big Blue.

“Felt like spreading my wings,” Dick says, delighting in the way Jason tenses. “Gotham’s a small city. Sometimes a guy gets bored and wants to see new sights and all that.”

Slade, as if on cue, wraps an arm around his waist, grazing over his ass just enough for Jason to catch it, but not long enough for Dick to slap him for it. It’s not like they haven’t fucked before – Dick’s fucked most of his frenemies at this point – but they both had wanted different things out of it. Slade wanted things Dick would never be able to give him, and Dick… Dick just wants to drown Jason’s taste in someone else’s. _Anyone_ else’s.

“You…” Jason’s eyes are narrowed, and if Dick didn’t know better, he’d think Jason felt some semblance of hurt. “ _Him_?!”

Roy and Kori exchange a nervous look, so Dick waves at them with what he hopes is a comforting smile. They both wave back as Jason fumes.

“Were you expecting me to be celibate or something?” Dick asks incredulously. “You weren’t _that_ good, Batboy. I’ve had better. It’s not like I’m hopelessly pining over you just _hoping_ you’ll give me a second chance.”

He flutters his eyelashes delicately, and Slade snorts.

Jason’s eyes burn where they look, trailing along the lines of Dick’s suit meaningfully. He takes a step closer, and even with Slade next to him, Dick wants to step back. Keep away. Being close leaves him thinking the bad kinds of thoughts he has to shove down. Being close leaves him open. Weak. Vulnerable. Like _before_.

“He doesn’t know you like I do.”

“Honey,” Dick purrs, low enough that Kori and Roy can’t hear him, “ _everyone_ knows me in that way. Biblical sense? I’m a huge slut, remember? Bicycle of the caped community. Anyone who wants a ride gets one.”

“How could I _forget_ ,” Jason mutters, eyes still locked on Dick’s. Unspoken, the picture of Harley Quinn’s lips around his cock, the sensation of fucking into her late at night on a middle of nowhere rooftop drifts to the forefront of his thoughts.

His heart gives a painful twist at the memory, at the way Jason’s eyes had turned so cold as he stumbled in on them, just in time for Dick to come. He can tell Jason’s thinking of it too. It’s the only time Jason looks at him with anything but disgust.

“Let’s go,” Slade murmurs in his ear, sinful smirk for Jason’s eyes only. “Nearly showtime.”

Dick nods, and avoids looking at Jason as he walks away.

*

The mission is successful because he’s Stray and never does anything unsuccessfully. He’s high off the thrill of a successful heist when he’s slammed against a wall, one arm lifting to his neck and the other tight around his waist.

“What the _f_ —”

Jason’s glove muffles his protest, and he dodges the knee Dick directs at his groin. Slade’s already gone, of course, so there’s no backup unless he wants to call Selina. Which, _no_.

“What were you doing with Deathstroke the Terminator?!” Jason demands.

Dick glares at him, eyes flicking down to the hand cupping his mouth. Jason colors and removes it, still glaring at Dick slightly.

“What did it _look_ like I was doing?”

Jason’s eyes darken.

“Are you fucking him?”

Dick scoffs.

“What do you care if I am?”

“I _don’t_.”

“Then what are you doing here? If I wanted a bad lay I’d go fuck a nun.”

Jason’s grip on his waist tightens, pulling him away from the wall and into his ex’s chest.

“You shouldn’t be involved with Wilson—”

Stray cuts him off with a laugh, feeling Hood’s hard-on against him as he presses closer. They’re chest to chest, close enough for Dick to count constellations in Jason’s freckles like he used to. Close enough for him to see the scar cut across Jason’s cupid bow, silvered with age.

“Then who _exactly_ should I be involved with? _You_?”

He means it as a joke because he and Jason had been an inevitability at one point, like a supernova born from the heart of a dying star, but they’d run out of inevitable. No fuel left. No love left. Just stone-cold hatred, or what Dick wishes _could_ be stone-cold hatred.

He means it as a joke, but something in Jason’s eyes softens, something makes his head bend down, mouth slanted over Dick’s, hot breath burning Dick’s mouth.

Dick means it as a joke, but something pulls at his heart, something makes him get on his tiptoes and press into that softness with a ferocity he doesn’t remember. Something makes him kiss back like he’s a dying man in the desert and Jason’s the forbidden oasis that’s half-reality and half-fantasy. Something makes his tongue glide over Jason’s, the painfully familiar taste of nicotine spiraling in his mouth along with cinnamon. Something makes him fist his hands in that curly hair and pull. Something makes him wrap his legs around Jason’s waist when he’s lifted without breaking contact, and something makes him lose all semblance of control as his back meets the scratchy red brick of the wall.

Something makes him do it, because Dick had promised himself he’d never do this again.

But Jason’s hands feel like heaven through the thin dress pants, burning where they cup his ass. Jason’s lips taste like benediction, like _salvation_ , dripping in reverie and memory. Jason’s breathy sighs as they part sound like hymns, like prayer, because there’s something holy in him. There’s something perfect in him, in _them_ , and it’s everything Dick’s afraid of. Everything Dick doesn’t want to want.

Jason’s fingers tug on his clothes, and that’s when Dick’s brain catches up with his hormones.

“No,” he murmurs, pushing away from Jason frantically, desperately, breathless and debauched and so completely horribly beautifully _consumed_ … “No. No. No. _No._ ”

He can’t lose himself in someone like that again. He can’t let Jason back in so he can take the last small bit of pride and dignity Dick has left. He doesn’t have anything else left to give. Not when everything’s already been taken…

“Pretty Kitty?” Jason says, and the evidence of what they’d been doing is evident on his lips, puffy and red, in his hair, wind-swept and messy, on his neck, scratched and red from Dick’s claws.

Jason’s everything he wants, an inevitability he can’t escape, and that’s why Dick runs.

* * *

_Before_

“Why do you love me?” Dick asks Jason on patrol one night.

It’s later than either of them should be out on a school night, but it’s their three-year anniversary of the first night they’d met. Three years ago, Dick had found a kid trying to jack the tires off the Batmobile and bought him dinner before Batman interrupted. Three years ago, Stray had met someone he couldn’t ignore. It’s a big thing. Even though they haven’t been together that long, it’s the longest anyone’s ever lasted with him. He’s not the easiest to put up with, he knows that.

“Why do I love you?” Jason repeats, lips stretched in a grin Dick can only describe as dazzling. “How can I not?”

Dick bumps Jason’s shoulder with his.

“That’s not an answer.”

Jason bumps him back.

“It would be if you weren’t such a dummy.”

“Hey!”

Jason chuckles, wrappings an arm around Dick’s shoulders and pulling him close.

“I mean it, Pretty Kitty. I don’t know how I could not love you. Loving you’s not a choice. It’s everything. I can’t not love you. Loving you has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try... I've seen your kindness, and your strength. I've seen your heart and your soul. You’re it for me, Dickie. I can feel it.”

Stray can feel his cheeks redden.

“Oh.”

Jason snorts.

“Oh indeed.”

“Jason?”

Jason looks at him, still smiling.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Loving you’s not something you’ll ever need to thank me for, Pretty Kitty. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Two months later, Jason Todd is dead, and Dick knows that love is a lie.

* * *

It’s the second time in three days he’s been slammed into a wall, Stray thinks with a touch of humor. Jason might have a problem.

“What do you want?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Jason says flatly.

Dick rolls his eyes.

“I _always_ avoid you, my dearly detested.”

Jason leans closer to him, and as grim as it sounds, he’s pretty sure he can smell the blood of Jason’s last kill on his suit jacket.

“Don’t pull that bullshit. It may work on everyone else, but it _doesn’t_ work on me.”

Dick trails a claw along Jason’s jugular, feeling his shudder.

“Doesn’t it?”

Jason’s hand reaches up to Dick’s, tugging the clawed glove off and threading his fingers between Dick’s. It burns, the kind of burn Dick can’t think through, and Jason puts their clasped hands over his heart so Dick can _feel_ the quick-fire tempo, the thundering of his pulse.

“Feel that?” Jason asks him.

Dick looks away.

“Hey,” Jason says, other hand cupping Dick’s cheek to force eye-contact. “Look at me.”

“What do you _want_?” Dick demands, horrified by the little bits of emotion seeping in. “What is your _game_ here?”

“You’re the one that likes the games, Dick.”

“This can’t _be_ anything more than a game.”

Jason looks at him, and Dick gets the uncomfortable sensation of being seen through. He really hates when Jason cuts through the bullshit.

“It’s _always_ been more than a game,” Jason counters, squeezing his hand lightly and crowding over him. “You know it. I know it. _Everyone_ knows it.”

“No,” Dick snaps. “ _No_. I’m not like that anymore. I _fixed_ it. I’m better. I’m _beyond_ you now.”

Jason cocks his head at him.

“Are you?”

“ _Yes,_ I a—”

But then Jason’s leaning closer, impossibly close, close enough for the warmth of his breath to brush across Dick’s cheeks, close enough for them to breathe as one, shared in the small gap between them. It’s like before, with Jason’s lips hovering just over his, waiting for permission. Jason’s always had a thing about permission, something no one else really did.

“If you’re so against _this_ ,” Jason murmurs, pushing his groin against Dick’s hard enough to make him groan. “Why are you still under me?”

“I—”

“You’re still a slut for me, aren’t you?”

“Don’t you _fucking_ —”

“Ready to be bent over my cock, just like before. It feels like home, doesn’t it? You feel empty without me, don’t you? You’re so _eager_ to be put back in your place.”

“You are _nothing_ ,” Stray hisses, slashing Jason’s face with his unoccupied hand.

Jason lets him, smiling as the blood drips down his cheek.

“Oh _baby_ ,” he says, all low timbre and heat, “I’m _everything_ to you.”

“You mean _jack_ — _mmph!_ ”

Jason’s hands move to his hips, pulling him up to meet him. Dick doesn’t let that softness remain, forcing his way in and taking everything Jason’s stupidly giving him. He shouldn’t be doing this. _They_ shouldn’t be doing this. For a hundred reasons or more, because Jason came back to life and didn’t come back for Dick. Because Jason left in the first place. Because Jason’s jealous of every person Dick fucks. Because he can’t handle who he might be if Jason leaves him again. But he’s stupid, so he shoves those thoughts away. He’s stupid, so the fact that Jason left and never came back drifts away. _He’s here now_ , his traitorous mind thinks, and fuck it, Stray tends to work situations to his advantage. Might as well get fucked in the fun way while he gets fucked _up_.

This time, when hands tug on his Stray suit, he lets them. He pulls at Jason’s leather jacket until it’s off, letting his suit unzip to his waist and hang. He has to stay on his tiptoes to match Jason, but that’s fine. He’s not wearing his heeled boots tonight, and that’s the price of idiocy. Fuck it.

Jason’s armored uniform is the next to go, followed by the rest of Dick’s suit until he’s left with one clawed glove (who knows where Jason threw the other one) and boots (because he has a tendency to go commando in the suit because of the lines jockstraps and underwear tend to leave). Jason smirks at him, licking his lips eagerly with a hunger in his eyes Dick barely remembers from _before_.

“Lube?”

“Here.”

Jason pulls a pack out of fuck knows where, ripping it open with his teeth and squeezing it onto two fingers. The coconut scent drifts towards Dick. It’s the kind of lube they’d always used…

“Is that?”

Jason’s smirk softens.

“Yeah.”

Dick looks away, biting the inside of his cheek and second-guessing this whole disaster. It’s one thing to fuck strangers and people he knows, it’s another to do the deed with someone who can hurt him. Someone who can _break_ him. Someone who already has before.

“Turn over, Dickie.”

He complies, letting out a breathy sigh as Jason kneads at his ass the way he likes, teasing his opening with one finger and slicking it up. Lips press against his neck – licking, sucking, biting, _marking_ —

“Jason, you know I don’t like that.”

Jason bites another mark on Dick’s neck.

“Don’t care.”

Dick rolls his eyes.

“Whatever asshole.”

But then Jason’s finger pushes through and _fuck_ , Dick’s forgotten how good this feels. He hasn’t had sex in a few months. Jason works his finger in and out, giving Dick time to adjust before adding the second.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jason mutters. “I forgot how good your ass looks, taking me like this.”

“Don’t cream your pants,” Dick snaps. “Hurry up before I get bored.”

Jason dollops some more lube on his fingers, scissoring Dick open and brushing against his prostate so deliciously Dick has to bite back the moan building in his throat.

“Like this?” Jason breathes against his throat, licking a trail up to his earlobe. He’s still biting. Still kissing. Still _marking_. Dick should be angry, but he’s too pent up to care about much of anything right now.

“More,” he demands, but it comes out meeker than he means it to.

“Such a greedy kitten,” Jason murmurs, stealing a kiss from Dick’s lips like the asshole he is. “Well…let’s satisfy your craving.”

Dick hears Jason’s zipper drop, feels his ex’s hands spin him back around so they’re face-to-face, nose-to-nose practically. Jason lifts him, bared biceps flexing deliciously under Dick’s fingers. He dangles one arm under Jason’s, claws poised over his back.

“Fuck me like you hate me,” Dick breathes, and Jason slams him down on his cock.

It’s a lot. Everything on the right side of painful. He feels _full_ , metaphorically and literally. He feels right. He feels _whole_. And fuck, this sappy shit is killing his arousal.

Dick’s back is against that itchy brick again, scrapping enough to hurt, but he doesn’t care, because Jason’s fucking into him, and his hands move down and up the scarred expanse of Jason’s back. Clawing, scratching, _pulling_. Jason pulls out and thrusts back in deeper, plunging, and it’s perfect because he can feel that low-boiling heat build in his gut. He can feel the way they fit together like puzzle pieces as he keens under Jason’s lips, as he digs his nails in, toes curling, when Jason picks up the pace.

Two broken halves of a shattered whole.

Two lost and lonely birds trying to find something neither of them has in each other.

A Robin and a Cardinal.

“You’re mine,” Jason growls, grip bruising on Dick’s waist. “You’ve always been mine. You will always _be_ mine.”

Dick comes with Jason’s name on his lips.

*

They fuck again on the way to Dick’s safe house (one he, thankfully, doesn’t share with Selina) and two more times when they get there. Jason falls asleep with Dick’s head over his heart so he can hear the comforting beats, and Dick falls asleep with Jason’s arms loose around his waist. It’s a problem, to say the least. A big problem because people don’t _sleep_ in his bed. He doesn’t _let_ people in his safe house because it’s supposed to be _safe_. They fuck him, or he fucks them, and then he leaves before they can ask him to stay. He runs before they get attached. He leaves so he doesn’t _get_ left.

So his first feeling upon waking is panic. The silent kind of panic where his thoughts spiral and spiral and _spiral_ as he stares at the ceiling and wonders why he’s such an impulsive idiot. The kind of panic he panics trying to control because the _last_ thing he wants right now is Jason to wake up because he has no self-control. The kind of panic that reminds him why he’s been avoiding this inevitability since Jason came back with a bag of decapitated heads as his greeting.

Because Dick hadn’t coped well. Fighting and fucking all day every day, barely eating, barely _sleeping_ , because the second he’d stopped he’d hear Joker’s taunting recount of Jason’s death, he’d hear the recording of Jason’s screams and pleas to let him live, for Bruce to save him, for _Dick_ to save him. Dick hadn’t coped well. He’d drank and he’d slept with Harley Quinn who felt guilty for her part in Jason’s death, and he’d tried to kill Joker half a dozen times before finding out Jason came back.

Because Jason came back and said things that hurt. He came back with his judgment and scorn and hatred because of Dick’s weakness. Because Dick hadn’t stayed blindly devoted to his memory. And sure, he regrets sleeping with Harley, but he’ll never admit it. Admitting that would give Jason too much power.

“Dick?”

Jason’s voice is all heat and gravel. Confused and sleepy, the way Dick remembers. There are pillow creases on his face, and his hair is sex-mussed and bed-headed in its monstrous tangled disaster. His eyes are bleary, and there’s a line of drool at the corner of his mouth.

Dick had forgotten Jason drools in his sleep.

“I have to go,” he breathes, pulling out of the warm comfort of Jason’s embrace and ignoring the pang of longing he feels immediately, the onset of loneliness always edging at his consciousness. “I can’t…”

Jason’s hand tugs on his wrist, pulling until Dick’s back on top of Jason, peering into pools of liquid emerald.

“No.”

“Jason—”

“ _No_. You keep running, or distracting me, or doing whatever you can to drive me away and I’m fucking done letting you.”

Dick glares at him.

“Stop trying then. Stop chasing me. Are you so pathetic over the guy who fucked away your virginity you can’t take a—”

“That was the best night of my life,” Jason says softly, eyes painfully open and vulnerable. “Take that as you will, but _don’t_ demean that night when it meant everything to me.”

Dick looks down at the fingers wrapped tight around his wrists, the warm body beneath him.

“There’s nothing _left_ ,” he croaks, feeling tears prick at his eyes despite his best efforts. “We burned bright and fast, and now there’s nothing _left_ , Little Wing. There’s nothing _here_. No future. No happiness. No lo—”

He still can’t say the word. He hasn’t been able to say it in years.

Jason’s thumb brushes over his cheek lightly.

“You never try. I never did either, but we both…Fuck.” Jason takes a deep breath. “I’m so sick of hating you, Dick. I can’t do it anymore. I’m so tired of wanting you more than anything and denying it for whatever reasons we keep making up. I’m so sick of this. I can’t hate you anymore.”

“You _have_ to. You don’t feel the other thing for me anymore, so you _have_ to hate me! You have to hate me, or it’ll be like I never—” _mattered. Was important. Was enough._

Jason brushes a kiss over Dick’s forehead, soft and lingering.

“When you fucked Harley,” he starts, pulling away slightly so they’re eye to eye again. “It hurt. It hurt worse than just about anything, even dying.”

“Jay, I—”

Jason shrugs, looking small despite all the muscle. Like he’s still the stupid seventeen-year-old in love with a good-for-nothing thief, like he’s still the same boy Dick had… felt the L-word for.

“I get it. It took me a few years, but I get it now. You were hurting.”

“You never came back to me.”

Jason gives Dick a soft smile, squeezing his hand lightly.

“I didn’t know you were there to come back to. I was in a bad way, after Joker blew me up and broke me apart with a fuckin’ crowbar. The pit healed the physical wounds but…” he taps his head. “…the ones up here only got worse. Pit made me unstable. Angrier. Latched on to every bad emotion I had and amplified a fuck ton, so when I came to Gotham and found out you’d tried to kill that fucking clown, I wanted to see you. It made me think of something besides the rage, but then I saw… what I saw, and it… it wasn’t good.”

Dick looks down, not sure what he should say. Jason huffs out a laugh.

“I wanted to hate you. I _tried_ to hate you. I even practiced the words in the mirror to make sure I knew how they tasted, how to spit them right. Took some time to take.”

“Yeah,” Dick replies softly. “It did.”

Jason looks up at Dick again, cupping his face almost lovingly.

“I could never hate you, Dickie. I never stopped loving you. Death didn’t stop that. Coming back to life didn’t stop that. Even… Quinn didn’t stop that. I love you, and I want to get back together.”

Dick frowns.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” he asks softly. “What if you die again? What happens when the next Sheila Haywood comes around, and I get to deal with your death _again_? I can’t handle that again, Jason. I can’t deal with that. It nearly broke me the first time.”

Jason fists a hand in Dick’s hair and pulls him down to hover above his lips.

“Feel my breath?” he asks.

Dick nods.

“I breathe for you.”

He moves Dick’s hand to rest over his pulse.

“Feel my heart?”

Dick nods, biting his lip.

“It beats for you.”

“But what if—”

“Pretty Kitty,” Jason murmurs. “I love you. I’m not going to stop loving you. I know you can’t say it, but I know you feel it too. Quit making us both miserable and just fucking kiss me.”

“If you die again,” Dick says, “I’ll kill you myself.”

And then, he kisses Jason, because he’s pathetic, and he’s in love, and fuck it. Fuck it all to Hell.

He loves Jason Todd, and for the first time in years, he lets that knowledge seep into his soul, lets it flood his heart with warmth. It’s alright. It’s okay.

He loves Jason Todd, and he’s never stopped. Probably never will.

He loves Jason Todd, and if that makes him pathetic, pathetic he will be.

He kisses his _I_ _love you’s’_ into Jason’s skin, and for now, it’s enough. For now, it’s perfect.


End file.
